Memoirs of a Magus
by c'estquatre
Summary: The decline of Matou Zouken, magus. A Zouken-centric fic which deals with the construction of the Fuyuki Grail.


Memoirs of a Magus

"Nagato!"

I scream his name with so much despair, my nails bloodied from digging at the ground.

"Tohsaka Nagato!"

I don't care if he is a superior magus—I don't care if he is one of the Wizard Marshall's apprentices—I won't forgive him. I definitely won't forgive him.

"Tohsaka! You—"

I must look like a mad dog, clawing the ground in such raw fury, but he only sees me as a bug.

So, he and his master turn away.

Prana runs through my magic circuits again, prana that I shouldn't have, compelling me to run—run straight for Nagato. I no longer care that the man beside him was the magician who killed the king of the moon, Brunestud, and now one of the twenty-seven Dead Apostle Ancestors. I just run ready to—

But I never make it because I am on the floor, unmoving and half-dead. All my ribs have been shattered; a circle and a line, the doctrine of attacking the interior instead of the exterior. I knew Nagato was skilled in martial arts, but I never knew he was strong enough to completely halt a magus.

I cough once, twice, and on the third time I gurgle blood and bile. I can taste my own fury and hate, acrid in the back of my throat. It has become imprinted in me. It did so the moment—

"See you in sixty years."

They leave me to die in this cavern.

Veins start rupturing and the internal wounds get larger and larger, until all the world becomes a gigantic pillar of rock.

She's in there.

The person that started this.

She's in there, the person I loved.

She's in there, the person whose wish I must fulfill.

Cold—it's getting cold. Must be how much blood I lost.

Cold.

It's cold but I don't think I'll ever reach the coldness of the Winter Saint.

* * *

><p>I breathe out, a warm fog billowing from my mouth into the crisp winter air. I shiver slightly despite being swathed in layers of wool. I turn my head toward the woman walking beside me in just a robe. I doubt even a homunculus cannot feel the chilling cold. I open my mouth, trying to say something; however her aloofness and title stop the words in my mouth.<p>

Archmagus Lizleihi Justica von Einzbern, a walking set of magic circuits who should able to actualize Magic—this has been her only identity. No wonder she lacks a personality. All I can see is an expression of coldness and aloofness; however, I can be sure she unconsciously is excited at the new sights of apparently the most advanced city on Earth. A slight breeze blows through the town gently, scraping ice and powdered snow off the River Thames and sprinkling the pedestrians in their long winter coats and scarves. Most, having seen this every year, merely shrug it off. As it is my first year here I shiver at the soft, wet, cold snow tickling the back of my neck. It is a sensation slightly akin to switching on my magic circuits, a small sensation which sharply spreads warmth through my nerves.

"Zolgen, are you okay?" Her voice is colder than any winter snow.

No matter how human she seems she is only a homunculus. She is designed to be aware so she could function in the human world—

But in the end she is only a homunculus. So her cold voice and concern should mean nothing. Nevertheless—

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Lizleihi. I'm just not used to the cold."

There is no change in her expression as she answers, "I'm sorry, I would not understand. I was born and lived all my life in the snow. I only saw you staring so blankly, Zolgen."

Zolgen, she only ever calls me Zolgen, she—no she does not have a choice to call me by anything other than the name which her masters allowed her to call me. I have given up on trying to have her call me Makiri. After all this is the archmagus known as the Winter Saint, who has lived all her life locked up in a gleaming white tower surrounded by a snowy barren field. Yes—it sounds poetic, like a fairytale. However, all fairytales are truly just about magi and their research, which is why no matter how beautiful this fairytale sounds, it is tragically just the same. Pathetic.

* * *

><p>"Class dismissed."<p>

I wave off my students and slowly collapse into my chair. I never believed that teaching could be so hard, answering every question and having to teach these vicious dogs who would eat each other if it meant progressing but an inch….

"Tough children aren't they, these students of the clock tower?"

An unfamiliar voice assaults my ears and I am forced to instantly look up at the man who commands my attention. He is a man of solid build; his fine clothes are well kept and disgrace my simple robe of tatters and rags. There is a certain air about him that exudes sophistication, almost as if this man has been nothing but graceful his entire life. There is something about that that unnerves me. Perhaps it's simply his arrogance which is veiled by that simple quietness. How is he trying to reach Akasha when he seems like such a conflicted person? I assume that these sorts of magi are the ones who want to reach Akasha the most. I do not want to associate myself with such a person, though courtesy demands otherwise.

"Who are you?" A rude and feeble attempt to 'get to know him.'

His eyes light up at the chance to talk about himself.

"Tohsaka, Tohsaka Nagato at your service." He waits for me to realize the importance of his name and sadly, I do know who he is.

Tohsaka Nagato: one of the apprentices of the famous Wizard Marshall Zelretch. I have never heard anything remotely good or even sane about an apprentice of Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, and seeing this man so steadily stating a point without collapsing or foaming, I wonder if this is Zelretch's greatest apprentice or his least promising.

"What do you want of someone like me?

He coughs slightly as if trying to make a point.

"I have information that you are working with the Einzberns in their quest to complete the Third Magic."

I do not move my mouth. I try not to seem surprised, though I am beyond sure that only the Einzberns know that discussion. Yet he continues, believing he has leverage.

"Your families are both very skilled, I am sure of that, more than enough for your proposed ritual. The archmagus has the vessel which will serve as the core of the grail and you yourself will be able to fashion the chains which bind the souls of those Heroic Spirits."

He pauses dramatically.

"Your position as a lecturer in the clock tower and Einzbern's title of archmagus speaks volumes about your proficiency as a magus. I am still an apprentice. However… Do you not need rich lands to perform such a ritual? Am I correct?"

It is his tone. I really do not like him. I doubt I could ever like him, even though he is helping Justica.

"The Zolgen and Einzbern family both have land, but none that have enough leylines and convergence points. However as it turns out my very home town of—"

I've heard enough. I don't want this man involved. I don't even know why he is trying to help us. Surely it cannot be out of kindness to another's family. No magus is that stupid. Otherwise they don't have the right to be called a magus.

"I don't want your help. There is a lot of land in this world and I am sure there is much more where that came from."

A vein bulges out of his neck at my remark but only for a moment.

"You insult me, Zolgen. I offer you goodwill and you insult me in such a way?"

"I would not mind working with you. For the ritual itself I would work with the Executors themselves if it could help. However I do not know what you want. That is what makes you dangerous. If your goal is not the same as Justica's then you can and will compromise the situation. Heaven's Fell will require all components working in harmony and conflict at the same time. Therefore you cannot be a candidate."

He bows, sweeping, graceful, and elegant, a gesture that would make any lord jealous and unsure of his own posture.

"Then I'll leave you. If you change your decision, Zolgen, then all you have to do is call."

I turn back to the papers I am grading; however, his name stays in my head. Tohsaka Nagato, a man who has tried to shatter my daily life, though I have kept him away. He will try again, that I am sure of, but when? I do not know. But if this man has a goal, a goal which I am not sure of—from looking at the man himself I am sure it is nothing as average as "reaching Akasha."

* * *

><p>I motion the driver to halt the carriage as I drop out into an inch of snow. The grey sky is foreboding as always and the cast-iron gates do not help the mansion's image. It is hard to imagine that there is such a gigantic house just outside London. However, no one has ever questioned the presence of such a house. Why? Because the family that resides in this mansion are magi. The boundary field around the house serves as a ward, telling common citizens "not to look." Rather than being invisible it is invisible to people's perception; however, for a magus…<p>

"Zolgen, welcome. You have been expected." An almost lifeless doll-like homunculus maid ushers me through the gate. It is most courteous to send a familiar to inform the family of your intent whether your familiar be a beetle or a cat wearing boots.

We walk through the open snow-smothered courtyard. The tall trees seem only to be for nostalgia's sake. The acorns and evergreens are obviously trying to imitate the North German Permafrost that this family thrives in. I'm very sure there is even an imitation distillery for alchemy. I wonder why this family, so skilled in alchemy, is not a part of the Prague Association. I'm sure that place would love to have the Einzbern family even if just to make dummies to try their magecraft on.

"This way Zolgen." She opens the door to a place I call my second home in England. The Zolgen, while skilled and famous, simply do not have an estate in England. I live in the Clock Tower in a very spartan room. A magus's life and money is spent on research; therefore their sleeping quarters must be void of luxury. The same applies to food and bathing. Personally I do not mind such living; however, the Einzbern family, so used to the luxury and grandeur of being nobles, could not take their ally living in such "squalor." Of course they had an ulterior motive. Why else would they welcome me into their home with such open arms? We are allies, not family, and the Einzbern family is known for its privacy. Why else would they have me stay at their luxurious mansion?

There is a chilly draft that seems to stay in the air, a sort of winter breeze that reminds me of the Alp region they originate from. Probably the academia so their spells do not lose their effectiveness. After all a magus needs the land their system originates from to be effective. Thanks to the versatility of their "land" the Einzbern family is strong, so one cannot underestimate the winter flower sitting in front of me.

"Justica." I let my presence be known.

"Zolgen, you have returned. The family is busy preparing, but we still have a ways to go."

She, no, it, gives me the daily progress report. For any other situation I'd believe we were a couple, but sadly she's a homunculus. That is the undeniable and uncrossable boundary between us, so I sigh quietly and survey the room. I finally still down on the chair and turn to the tray of biscuits. Specks litter the tray. Really the person who ate these is immaculate, it reminds me of—

She blinks once, then twice, until: "Yes, a man by the name of Tohsaka Nagato. I believe he was one of the Wizard Marshall's apprentices."

It's him, the same person who talked to me, but wait—the moment I refused him I came here, therefore he wouldn't have negotiated with the Einzbern family, unless—

"Justica, when did he come?"

"This morning…."

The impact of her statement hits me. I comprehend but I do not understand. Did she merely just spend her whole day sitting here without—

"It is a homunculus, boy. Merely a walking mass of magic circuits." The old man's voice reverberates throughout my mind.

Damn that old man, but I try to brush that thought away. The past belongs in the past and should never be opened again.

Why?

Because I will be crushed when it does open.

"What did he want?"

But I already know her answer. I know exactly what his answer is; however I want to hear it confirmed.

"He has offered us land in a far East land for our ritual."

I nod slowly.

"We have declined."

I won't understand. I know why I declined but I have no idea about the Einzberns. They are a family that has sought "Heaven's Feel" for thousands of years. They would not give up a prime plot of land for their ritual. Have the Einzbern family changed in the time I have been allied with the family? It is a possibility but not very probable.

"Why did you decide to not allow him to become the third person in our alliance?"

"I did not decide." She repeats the mantra so coldly that I am continually reminded she does not have a will. She has a persona, therefore the wish-granting sorcery trait, but she does not have a will.

"Who did decide?"

The fire continues to crackle, searing the wood, combusting it into clouds of ash like the falling of the first winter snows. The chamber is cherry red and supposedly warm, but I only feel that the chill deepens. Justica sighs, though only an involuntary action—she is a homunculus after all.

"The Einzbern family."

Of course, I expected that. She's only a homunculus after all. It's the next question that breaks my tiny currently peaceful world. It always does. It is just one of those questions. It is:

"Why?"

The air completely freezes. My bones turn to ice cold stone and my blood stops moving. Indeed the only thing that sounds is my memory, and it roars.

* * *

><p>I would like to believe this phenomenon is actually the Crimson Red Vermillion. It is hot, almost blazing, and sticky—the air is really sticky. It's heavy and it tastes like iron. Truly this is a frightening sight, definitely one that I attribute to something demonic. Yes, to completely destroy a family of magi, and of this caliber. This is a family whose sorcery trait is restraint and absorption. They are aligned to water. At this thought I start to pant becoming more and more disgusted at this act. I try to control my wobbling stomach, queasy at the destruction. Holes in the walls, burning tapestries splattered with a crimson more red than vermillion. Blocks of the house have become the floor and the ceiling has disintegrated leaving only smoke to serve as a boundary from the night sky. And as the smoke of the smoldering wood and plaster finally reaches my nose… I retch. The contents of my stomach erupt from my mouth, mixing with pure redness, not only corrupting it and also disgracing it. The moment that my stomach is empty I again start to breathe deeply. That is the moment I do not understand. I come to consciousness with blood pouring out, then bile, and now finally tears. The wet drops further the mix but I still do not understand. First blood from pain, bile from disgust, now tears? For what? Sadness… I… flashes flow through my mind. Familiar faces are instantly erased and I run. Why? There is something about this massacre that is familiar, like a husband walking into his family home and seeing his wife and child slaughtered. This has the same feeling, so I run but never make it past the door when I collapse. There is something, an etching, a mere child's scribble. I was scolded and punished for ever afterwards. There is a mere scratch that makes my head feel like it is splitting open. Yet I can still hear them, the pitter patter. At first I believed it is the rain pouring from the heavens to absolve this sin, whoever's sin, but no, the noise gets louder, louder than even the throbbing of my head, pitter, louder, patter, pitter, louder, patter, until—<p>

The area is completely silent so I shift my head up to the sky like an earthworm raising its head. And there she is. Standing there dressed in a royal, nay, angelic garb. Could she be one of the warrior-maidens of old? No, I remember that face as something in the dark fog of memory.

"This—"

She speaks. I… I did not know she could speak, but why would I believe that? Why does she look like a doll?

"This is a reality wrought by your own hands."

What? What is she saying to me? A reality? What is she—

My headache gets worse and I can no longer hear the footsteps. It hurts. It really, really hurts, more than a searing pain like a burning poker. This feeling is beyond that. I would scream. I should scream to keep my sanity. But I don't; why don't I?

Oh. I almost forgot the face right in front of me. I don't want to scare her. I don't want her to see me like this. I have no idea why, which is why.

"This is a reality wrought by your hands," she starts again, though her features soften, "but because it was wrought you don't have to carry the burden yourself."

Oh, those words. Those words, I will remember them. Even if I fall into hell I will not forget that face or those words. Yes, just before my headache completely overwhelms me I remember who she is, no, who it is. It is the homunculus, known as the Saint of Winter, a person so precious to me that—

I can no longer think as I collapse in the muddy ground, welcoming the merciful rain.

* * *

><p>From this view I can see the waves rise and dip. It is funny that these magical blue things are mindlessly controlled by the moon. A mere mindless system created by the Earth, yet it is something more magical than any ritual man can create using magecraft. Nevertheless we fight for that right. So many of us scramble and trample about, scrounging for that tiny amount of power, that tiny amount of control, believing in its exaggerated worth.<p>

Blind, aren't we?

Blind as worms to the actual magic that is all around us. Magi are the colonists trying to arrive at a promised land before anyone else. Yet in doing so…. Why are we blind that we can kill our own flesh and blood?

I throw the question out to the wide open sea and… nothing, of course. The only being that can answer a human is a human itself, so in that respect… There is no point, even if I can hear the sea "trying" to call back to me.

"That's where you were, the archmagus has been looking for you."

Oh, it was not the secret whisper of the azure ocean, it was Tohsaka Nagato.

The only man whose heart I find disgusting, but to fulfill the Einzbern's dream I accepted him.

"You seem… happy?" I try to be cordial as possible; after all, he is the man supplying us with the land for our ritual, he is a participant that no one wanted, but everyone needed so I had to accept him and ask the Einzbern family to accept him as well. Land with enough mana is hard to find now. If we let this chance slip, it will be even harder to find in the future. So I'll lay aside my differences with this man.

He seems to smile a broad gigantic smile that just looks so fake.

"Of course, our three families' goals are about to come into fruition: for the Einzberns, the completion of their "Third Magic," for us, the reaching of Akasha."

Finally he announces it, his true purpose, and I am not surprised at all–only disappointed. He is medicore. All magi's goal is to reach Akasha; that is why we are called the colonists who will never reach their promised land. I start to open my mouth in rebuttal because I know those who seek Akasha the most are the ones who will never reach Akasha.

"Oh, it's the archmagus; I had better leave."

At least he has the courtesy to leave, and with his leaving, she arrives in a simple white robe. She looks so delicate, much like a snowflake.

"We are approaching 'Fuyuki.' Are you ready Makiri?"

I look at her with some surprise on my face.

"What do you mean?"

The wells that are her eyes are filled with some sort of sage-like solemnity.

"Never mind, I am just blathering on. It's fine really."

She turns and the white of her hair swings, reflecting the amber sunset. I want to say something. I need to tell her something before—

"Wait! Justica!" I call to her back.

She stops, waiting for what I have to tell her.

"Sorry, and thank you," I whisper, just loud enough for her to hear.

"What for?" The clear chiming sound of her homunculus voice rings though the ship. I am sure there is an amount of innocence in her voice, as if someone has never thanked and apologized to her in the same sentence.

"I'm sorry for burdening you, for always dragging you down, but I thank you for letting me do that as well. And also for telling me that I was the one who wrought that reality with my own hands, and even so, accepting me as someone precious to you."

"No need."

No need, her words slice me open like the first day that I met her under the winter snow.

* * *

><p>"How can I go home like this?" A plea to no one in particular is voiced across the silent snow.<p>

It's cold, the rags that serve as my gloves only cover my palms, and the trench-coat that was once so proudly worn is nothing but a tattered covering barely shielding me from the frost all around me. My eyes are completely clouded by the snow—or are they clouded because I barely have enough energy to even look? My breath fogs up, creating lumps in the freezing air. Winter is truly the cruelest season. It is the season when everyone goes home to see their family, but what about me? Shouldn't I be with my family, the Zolgen?

"But I can't go home. Not like this."

In their eyes, I am just a failure, a reminder that the family's better days are gone, never to return. I am the beginning of the decline of the house of Zolgen. I breathe deeply, even if breathing hurts, because the pain of my sides hurts even more. Damn, I really should not have overdone it, trying to capture an elemental like that. Zolgen magi are in high demand because of our magecraft, but now even that is starting to go away. The Zolgen name will sink into oblivion, erased from the list of colonists that tried so desperately to find Akasha, and my failure is truly the beginning of that decline. No—maybe it was my birth.

"Ha, everything is truly falling apart." A curse, but to no audience in particular, only myself because I do not have enough power.

Eliminate all the evils in the world? They all laughed at me and told me that it was impossible. The species known as humanity has set limits, they all said, and to go outside that spiral is impossible, and furthermore to dream so is beyond foolish. I know that—I know that because they have shown me how impossible it is over and over and over again. But still, to eliminate all hate and suffering: wouldn't such a feat be beautiful?

But all that is shattered now, sitting here in this snow. There is no ideal utopia; there is no paradise. It is a goal which is impossible to reach for only a magus. Such a deed is only reachable with something called a miracle. A miracle that is impossible, because a miracle is defined as something unreachable. Therefore as long as I reach for it, I will never reach this miracle, because a miracle is inherently impossible.

"Then…."

An impossible bell-like sound comes from somewhere beside me, but my eyes are too clouded by snow and tears to even see what isa right in front of me.

"Shall I supply you one: a miracle?"

My red, swollen hands go to my eyes, rubbing away what clouded my vision. Such a sight is not possible. Standing before me is winter herself: the snow white hair, the robe, the posture, the dignity, the empty, red eyes that pierce my being.

She holds her delicate hand out, the only who has done so for a magus licking his own wounds in this empty street corner. The tempest of winter is raging behind her but she does not care; she only cares about what is in front of her at this moment. Such an empty sanctity, so, automatically, bewitched not by her words but by her expression I take the only hand that was ever offered to me.

* * *

><p>And that was enough for me. I was happy. Happy pursing a goal that I deeply wanted to see actualized. But I think no matter how much my obsession was, I was happy just dreaming. Those days were truly dream-like. You told me that you would grant me a miracle and told me that reality was something I wrought with my own hands. It was enough. So, what else do I need?<p>

I vomit blood as I am knocked down.

That magician is moving Justica closer to the core of the Greater Grail.

Move. I need to move.

"Why are you resisting so much Zolgen?" Nagato's condescending voice is the only thing keeping me awake, and for that I thank him.

"My name is Makiri." I manage to hiss.

"Can't you see the greatness of this, Zolgen? In a few minutes the Greater Grail will become complete, and one of our families will have the chance to reach Akasha. Doesn't it just thrill you to know that?"

"You're crazy, why would you want to open the spiral? There might be nothing; the world might end."

"But don't you want to know, Zolgen? Know what is there? After all; this is the goal of all magi. Don't you want to peer into what so many magi have fought and died for?"

"No, I just wanted a miracle."

"But Zolgen, can't you see, it is a miracle: if you reach Akasha you will be rewarded with whatever miracle you wish."

"Shut up. I don't need that kind of miracle."

"You're not the kind of magus that would do anything to achieve his desire? What sort of joke is that, Zolgen? To think I called you a friend and a comrade."

"I told you to shut up. The type of miracle I am seeking is different from yours. There's no point in achieving it, if all I brought was hate and fear."

Nagato is completely silent for the first time, but I still can't move. My magic circuits are dead; they will not take in any prana temporarily. Just when I needed them the most.

The ground shakes with the sound of a dragon roaring, but it is the Greater Grail waiting to accept the Cup of Heaven.

"Hey, Zolgen, what do you think of Justica?"

"She is my savior." My voice seethes with hatred and hopelessness.

I thought I had changed.

I thought I had obtained something.

So why can't I move?

Why can't I do what I need to do?

"Heh, I thought so, but she's just a homunculus though, isn't she? Can't the Einzbern family make more of her?"

Yes, they can, I'm sure the family, what with the skill they have, can make many more Justica-model homunculi—probably with every memory and experience that she has. But it's not the same.

"She reached out to me when I needed it the most. It doesn't matter if she did it because she was forced to. It doesn't matter if it was her own will; the fact still remains that she saved me."

That's right. A homunculus is fine too.

Why did I care what she was? Those were just petty excuses because in the end, before I learnt any of that—

"So even if it is her wish, even if it is the purpose set for her from the beginning, even if she is happy like that, I can't let her do this to herself." I grit my teeth ready for the pain.

"But Zolgen, that's just selfish isn't it?" Nagato is uncharacteristically observant.

"Pft, you're the one to talk." I smile.

-It's like a burning poker being inserted into my spine.

That was the answer.

If I cannot use any of my magic circuits—

Create a new one.

A process that, if I fail, will cripple me for life, so all I have to do is not fail.

The uncomfortable sensation of prana flooding through my body numbs the pain.

Yes, this is what means to be a magus, flittering on the brink of death.

"Nagato, I wish to eliminate all evils." My voice starts to grow stronger. "I will eliminate everything that I deem to be evil and create the ultimate utopia. So I can't let Justica die like this. Because I deem it to be evil I have to stop it, even at the cost of threatening my miracle."

And with magical energy flooding through my body again I smash Nagato's face onto the stone hard ground and take off.

The rumbling gets louder and louder as I approach the monolith that forms the Greater Grail. The amount of prana seething from it is overwhelming. I am sure it could supply my department for a few years.

Whispering a spell of weightlessness I jump, clawing my way to the top where—

He's standing there.

One of the five magicians. He could murder me in a second. Pulverize me into tiny pieces, especially now that I only have one magic circuit actually running. And there she is, covered in the same winter robe that I met her in.

"Justica! Let's go back. Come on. Back to England," I plea to her as the magician gets closer.

But she's silent.

"Boy…." The magician starts.

"Get out of my way!" I roar, enraged, as I try to attack him.

I know such an act is idiocy, but I did it to protect what I believed in, and for that insolence I was thrown into the air. He is stronger than me, even without the use of his magic circuits. So, flung into the air, I reach out my hand, not to him, but the Winter Saint behind him, imploring her to take the hand that she offered to take so long ago.

But I only fall off the monolith.

And the rumbling increases as the Winter Saint sacrifices herself for the miracle she wanted to bestow upon the world.

Cursing myself, cursing the world, I continue to fall.

If you truly are the Holy Grail, then you'll answer my wish right?

But only silence is my answer.

That's right; right now you are empty…

I hit the ground and all the magical energy is drained away from my body.

* * *

><p>—Everything's falling apart.<p>

The collapse is definitive.

The search that took the Einzbern a thousand years.

The earnest desire that took the Makiri five hundred years.

The continuous world that was never completed is about to end.

"Oh-oh, ohhhhhhh."

Amidst the chaos, it is still conscious.

—I don't want to die.

The body is a mere collection of dark red flesh, bearing no resemblance to a human being. The swarm of worms fills the cavern. It cannot maintain its body, even when using all of the worms.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh—"

The writhing figure is just a moving pile of meat.

But it's alive.

The mass curses its rotting, melting body.

—I don't want to die.

Its obsession is the only thing keeping it in this world.


End file.
